


Joker x Harley Week II: One Shots

by cvioleta



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Almost smut but you can only do so much in a straitjacket, Character Study, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage, Joker x Harley Week, One Shot Collection, Romance, Turned into smut by day three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cvioleta/pseuds/cvioleta
Summary: No relationship to any of my other stories.  These are going to be a series of Ayerverse one-shots, based solely on the movie and not diverging from the movie as canon. Some history is from different comic books.  Just my take on the scenes as if I had been the one hired to write the novelization.  ;-)Not sure I will get every day's topic posted on time, but there will be one for every day eventually!Written forJoker x Harley Weekon Tumblr.





	1. Day One: Therapy Scene

                Dr. Harleen Quinzel paced back and forth in her office, her hand in her pocket wrapped around the plush toy kitten inside.  Her eyes flicked to the watch on her wrist; still eighteen minutes before her session with the Joker. 

                Eighteen minutes left for her to make a better decision.  A smarter decision.  A _legally correct_ and _ethical_ decision.  She could leave it here in her desk, in the locked drawer.  Smuggle the contents of it out the way she had smuggled them in, in the tiny makeup bag in her purse that always set off the metal detectors.

                _The guard always laughed.  Pretty Dr. Quinzel and her tweezers and her eyelash curler, always making the scanner beep.  She just couldn’t stand not to be able to fix herself up during the day, and he understood that. His teenage daughter was the same way.  Pretty girls, both of them.  Always worried they might not look perfect.  It was cute._

                It wasn’t like she didn’t know what he was going to do with a scalpel.

                _The blood will be as much on your hands as his._ She knew it to be true.  Despite what she knew her colleagues would think and say if they had any idea she’d gotten to this point, Dr. Quinzel had not lost her mind.  A crazy person would have made mistakes by now, gotten themselves caught.  The truly crazy people got caught every day at Arkham, trying to make a shiv out of their toothbrush.  They acted guilty, gave themselves away. 

                Not her.

                She’d been cool as a cucumber, her warm smile – the smile of the Girl Scout she’d once been – washing over her face, too dazzling for the guard up front or anybody else to imagine that anything but fairies, butterflies and the desire to _do good_ lurked behind it.  It was a perfect façade, one that never slipped…she was so _good_ at it, had been modeling it for _oh so many years_ , that really this was a cake walk.

                _The face of an angel,_ her father had said, many years ago.  Except it never had been anything but a tool for her.  She smiled innocently at age four when she stole candy from her brother and stole his favorite toy car, and she smiled at his frustration to find them gone, and smiled at her own cleverness because no one ever caught her.  She smiled sweetly, captivatingly, when she was 19 and she had earned a C, but she needed an A, and she was _sure_ there was some extra credit she could do for Professor Martin to bring up her grade. 

                That bright, white smile, that golden hair, those innocent blue eyes.  They never changed even as the mind underneath grew deeper, thicker, more complicated, her mind neatly compartmentalized between the things public Harleen needed to know and do, the to-do list of impressive accomplishments, and the dark chaos of her own thoughts and desires. 

                She never wanted to be a good girl.  Could never remember even a moment of wanting to be Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty.  Harleen wanted to be the Queen of Hearts, Lady Tremaine, Maleficent, in all of their grandeur and power.  _Just prettier,_ she thought, eternally annoyed at how none of those tales showed those great women in their younger years, when surely they were far more beautiful than the cute but dim young women who sought to push them aside.   _As if that would work in real life,_ Harleen thought.  She’d already seen who the winners and losers were in this world and they were not the naïve and innocent, no matter how lovely. 

                And as she reached her teens and started to feel the stirrings of desire, she soon realized she never felt them for boys her own age, no matter how handsome or popular.  No…she quickly found her fantasies revolved around older men, particularly anyone who seemed to have a dangerous edge to them.  She always recognized the desire to do what was forbidden in others, could instinctively tell the difference between the ones that would look but knew better than to touch, and the ones that simply didn’t care that she was underage, that wanted the rush of doing something wrong as badly as she did.

                She never got caught.  Ever.  She never broke character in front of anybody who mattered.  Harleen dated appropriate boys and got straight A’s and went off to college a daughter that anyone would be proud of.  She was smart enough to understand that graduate school would be much harder than college and that she was going to have to sacrifice for a few years, _be_ the angel everybody believed her to be, to get to that milestone in her life.  And so she did.  Self-control had never really been a problem for her; after all, she was using people to get what _she_ needed, so she had all the power.  She’d never had even a moment of feeling like she might be in love with someone, no matter how much she might enjoy the way they could make her feel. 

                And really, as her studies progressed, it seemed more and more that love was the weakest and least necessary of human emotions, the one that caused the most self-destructive behavior.  If she lacked the capacity to feel it, she couldn’t see that as anything but one of her strengths.

                From the moment she met _him_ , he had turned her entire life upside down.  He had a familiar feel, the feel of a man who lived for the rush, fed off of adrenaline and didn’t care about rules, but there was something more. It was far deeper, more complex, like a bottomless pit, and he was like herself; he read her as accurately as she read him, from the very start, from their first meeting.

                She remembered the flicker of surprise in his eyes, the slow smile that had spread across his face. The way he lit up with manic energy at the realization, the knowledge that she was _like him_.  Harleen remembered her heartbeat speeding up so fast she felt like she was having an anxiety attack.  She remembered ending up in her office after their first session, lying on her own couch, pale and shaken. 

                After that, there were the sessions where she tried to be a professional, tried to act normal, tried to ask all the right questions and take notes, while her craving for him grew and grew and she could hardly look him in the eye because he _knew_ it.  She fidgeted and licked her lips and crossed and uncrossed her legs and he winked and smiled and giggled because he _knew_.

_Come to Daddy.  Come over to this side of the table where you can be yourself._

                He let it go for a while and his patience annoyed her.  She started to push the envelope, to wear shorter skirts, higher heels. He was still a man, wasn’t he?  She needed to see him react, but he looked at her as calmly as if she’d been wearing a potato sack.  And smiled, telling her she would _never_ have the power with him, and really, he was amused to see her try. 

                Over the months, their sessions took a subtle turn.  He had enjoyed telling previous psychiatrists the gory details of his crimes, because he loved how it upset them.  He loved telling the stories to Harleen because they fascinated her.  She was his biggest fan, sitting there asking him respectful questions, her admiration showing plainly in her eyes as her mouth formed the correct responses.

                They were being recorded, after all. 

                Their sessions became the only thing that mattered to her.  She spent hours on her hair and makeup, subtle things as she couldn’t look obvious to anyone else.  A little dab of shiny lip gloss in the middle of her lip to attract his eyes, to make him think about how those lips would look wrapped around his cock.  The sweater that zipped all the way down the front, so that he’d think about how easy it would be to take off with a single movement.   The line-back stockings that carried the eye up and under her skirt.  When she wasn’t with him, she fantasized about him constantly, desperately wishing he’d get out of that damned straitjacket and grab her, his hands in her hair, throwing her on the table that lay between them, pushing up her skirt to find the garters she’d been wearing on a daily basis _just in case._

                And in the middle of that maelstrom of unfamiliar, out of control desire, something else rose up that disturbed her far more, a gnawing combination of anger and fear at the treatment Arkham inflicted upon him.  His cell that did not even have a mattress because they believed he could fashion a weapon out of anything given to him.  The way they withheld food from him in an attempt to keep him under control; he was naturally thin, she could see that, but not _that_ thin.  The ECT treatments that at first she had agreed with, but now infuriated her, and she realized much of her fury was selfish.

_If they destroy his mind, no one will ever understand me again._

                For the first time, she didn’t know how to get away with it.  How could she even talk freely to him, much less ever touch him?  The second she slipped in any way, she would never see him again.  The cameras were always on, the recording devices always whirring away.  She memorized the model numbers and went home and researched them, trying to find a way to disable them, but they were specifically made for institutional use and tamper protected.

                They were in a session when she heard a noise; the sound of machinery grinding to a halt.  The air flow from above her head ceased, the lights flickered and went out and the session room was cast into dim shadows from the storm raging outside.

_Blackout._

                “Dr. Quinzel,” the guard called from outside.  “We’ll get everything back on as soon as possible.  You okay in there?”

 _He can’t come in_ , she realized. The doors were electric as well. 

                “Just fine!” she sang out cheerfully.  “Don’t worry, we can talk in the dark.”

                Her mouth dropped open and she rose in her chair, leaning across the table close to him so that she could whisper, still afraid that somehow they would be heard, but he spoke first.

                “Come here…Now,” he growled, so close she felt his breath on her face.

                She didn’t hesitate, as he knew she wouldn’t, but swiftly rounded, the table, banging her thigh into the metal leg hard enough to leave a huge purple bruise she’d have for weeks.  The pain didn’t even slow her down; she rounded the corner and straddled him, sinking into his lap.  He leaned forward, pinning her between himself and the table, somehow managing to take control even with his arms bound, and slid his mouth up the side of her neck, kissing her. She felt the metal of his teeth as his mouth reached her ear and shivered violently as he chuckled against her skin. 

                “Bring me a knife,” he said into her ear.  She turned to him, her mouth dropping open… _I can’t, metal detectors, how would I?_ but her thoughts were quickly silenced when his lips touched hers. His kiss was rough but nothing could have been rough enough for her; she wanted him so desperately that she didn’t care if they were caught; nothing mattered but this and nothing would ever matter but this.  His tongue was in her mouth and she sucked on it greedily, moaning into his mouth. She could feel how hard he was even through the thick straps of the straitjacket and she ground herself down on him.

                The lights came back on and he broke the kiss.  “Go sit down,” he instructed and she obeyed, her hand going to her mouth as though she could capture the sensations and keep them there. 

                He grinned broadly.  “It’s nice to finally meet you, _Doctor_ Quinzel.”    

                She could hardly come up with enough breath to answer him.  “I’m charmed,” she responded quietly, and snickered under her breath.

                It was still the only time they’d touched, but it had intensified her feelings a thousand times.  She never questioned that she would do as he’d asked, only prayed she’d pull it off successfully. The concept of _doubt_ was a new one to her and she wondered if it was her newfound feelings that were rattling her normally unshakeable confidence.  Or perhaps it was just the feeling that she now had something she was afraid to lose?   Whatever it was, it was entirely uncomfortable and she could focus on little else but their kiss; reliving his lips on hers, the table pressing painfully into her back, touching the bruise that still lingered on her creamy thigh.

_You’ll do this for him._

_You’ll do worse._

                The cat in her pocket, and the most angelic smile in her repertoire on her beautiful face, Harleen buzzed the guards to escort her to the session room. 

Check out this illustration from the story by Chickadee333! https://chickadee333.tumblr.com/image/160970965267


	2. Day Two:  Electroshock Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second in the series for [Joker x Harley Week](https://jokerxharleyweek.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. It's after midnight and I've already written it so I guess I might as well put it up!
> 
> Harleen's birthdate is from her rap sheet in Suicide Squad. I never think of her as quite that young because I haven't figured out how she fast-tracked the whole Ph.D. thing. I have this thing about realism and facts making sense in fiction but not everybody cares! (Sticking to canon is hard, y'all...)
> 
> I did quite a bit of research on how people feel after having ECT to get the aftermath correct. It’s a shame I never put in this kind of effort in actual college or I might have ended up with a Ph.D like Dr. Quinzel! 
> 
> More to come. You're going to like the next one ;-)

                Nothing had happened the way she expected it to, and yet, how could she not laugh at herself, at the sheer _ego_ that let her believe there was a way to predict his behavior?  She had basically thrown together every flammable chemical in the lab, and lit a match, and now she was _surprised?_

                Still, Harleen was angry.  Mostly at herself, she realized, as she fought to get free of some three-piece-suited ape who was wrestling her down the hallway. She knew she’d broken his skin more than once with her nails.  She could smell the blood. 

                _Not going down without a fight_ , she thought.  _Where was J?_   She needed him to see her, feeling instinctively that he’d find her even more attractive in her currently state, sweaty, wild, her shirt torn, the blood of his henchman under her nails.  If there was one thing she knew, it was that she had not misread the attraction.

                She also knew it might not stop him from killing her, but it was really the only card she had left to play.

                The man slammed her down on the table, holding her in place with his body as she fought to kick him.  He was too strong and she was quickly cuffed down.  Then he was gone and she heard the Joker’s voice…mocking her.

                “What…do we have here?”  He drew the words out as he grabbed the overhead lamp and shone it in her face so that she could see nothing. 

                “I did everything you said,” she pleaded, innocent but breathy.  “I helped you.”

                _There’s no way he can’t think about what else he could do to me, strapped to a table, other than kill me,_ she reassured herself.  She let herself breathe hard…he had a perfect view of her cleavage as her chest rose and fell. 

                “You helped me?”  He hovered just behind her, his voice incredulous, a smile on his face that was pure intimidation.  “By erasing what few-“ he slammed his fists on the table on each side of her head to punctuate his words- “faded – memories – I had?”

                She flinched at the blows but he hadn’t hit her, and held her breath as he leaned closer. 

                “No.  You left me in a black hole of rage and confusion.”

                Their faces were inches apart, his hair wild.  Suddenly he rolled his eyes and snapped himself back, away from her. 

                “Is that the medicine you practice, Dr. Quinzel?”  She heard something behind her _snap_ , like a surgical glove. 

 _He was just putting on a show…so typical for him._ The man could never just commit a crime.  Well, she wasn’t going to play along with a script she died at the end of.  Time to cut to the chase.

                “Whaddaya gonna do, you gonna kill me Mr. J?” 

                “What?  No, I’m not going to kill you.  I’m just going to hurt you, really, really bad.”  He came into view again, and she saw the electrodes in his hands. 

                It calmed her.  _Better that than a scalpel._ She had no idea what it would feel like but it was basically a seizure – perhaps she wouldn’t even feel it?  Most seizure patients were completely unaware.

                “You think so?  Well, I can take it.”  She looked up at him and was gratified to see surprise flicker across his face.

 _You have no idea,_ she thought.  _But you will._

                She tasted leather as he slid a belt between her teeth.  He touched her face, his large hands covering her cheeks, and despite herself, she felt a rush of desire and shivered.  It wasn’t lost on him, but she knew his pride recognized her manipulations and that alone would force him to finish what he started. She would simply have to bear it.  “I wouldn’t want you to break those perfect, porcelain-capped teeth when the juice hits your brain.”

                She saw his smile above her in the dark, and then everything was gone.

* * *

                Harleen woke up slowly, nagging pain in her back bringing her fully awake despite a bone-deep exhaustion that made her want to stay oblivious.  She turned on her side and curled herself into a ball, stretching her painful muscles, then opened her eyes slowly.

                She recognized the room as a hospital room, but just as quickly recognized that something was seriously wrong with her.

                _Who am I?_

                She had no idea.  She sat up quickly, and realized she was wearing a hospital bracelet.

                QUINZEL, HARLEEN

                DOB: 07/20/90

                SEX: F

                ADM: 3/14/16

 

 _Harleen Quinzel?_ The name meant nothing to her, but she recognized that she knew the terminology on the bracelet.  She crawled to the end of the bed, looking for her chart and was pleased to find that this hospital was in the Stone Age and still used bedside charting.

                _How do I know so much about it?  Am I a nurse?_

She pulled the clipboard off its hook and settled herself cross-legged on the bed to review it.  They had an address for her, which looked no more familiar than her name. Had she suffered a head injury?  She read over the list of conditions. Violent attack, abrasions, bruising.  ECT…she’d had electroconvulsive therapy?  Harleen squinted at the notes, trying hard to remember, but her mind felt like it had been wiped of all of her important personal information.              

_ECT causes short-term memory loss, but most patients regain knowledge of their own identities within 24 hours and return to normal within three weeks._

                Where had that come from?  Some professor’s voice from the past.  She shook her head, trying to clear it and tried to focus on the professor.  It worked; after a moment she could hear his voice and recall where she sat in his lecture hall.  In medical school.

_She was a doctor._

                What had happened to her?  Frightened, she carefully removed her IV and slipped out of the bed, ignoring the trail of blood down her hand.  She was weak but she could walk – that was encouraging.  Her muscles were sore and she felt like she needed desperately to eat something. 

                She made it to the bathroom and looked at herself. 

                Her hair hung, stringy and dirty, in a wavy mess around her face.  The sides of her head felt sore and her hair, when she touched her temples, crackled under her fingers as though she’d burned it to a crisp with an iron.  Her teeth hurt, as though she’d been grinding them. 

                But all in all – it wasn’t bad. Nothing was broken, she knew that much.  She could walk.   Her face was intact.  She could see, and hear, and speak.  She didn’t know how she’d gotten here, but she was starting to recall the contents of patient charts…her patients.

                _Sociopath and narcissist,_ her mind recited, as a flash of writing the note returned.  _Megalomaniac, nihilist, anarchist._

                 “Dr. Quinzel,” she said to her reflection in the mirror.  “What happened to you?”


	3. Day Three: Highway Scene (Prelude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different from the others so far and yes, this one goes straight down into the smut gutter a.k.a. everybody's favorite hangout. :-)
> 
> We’ve all seen the highway scene, but most of us have wondered what led up to the highway scene, because obviously _something_ happened in between the ECT and Harleen chasing him down the highway on a motorcycle. But some nimrod decided to slice and dice the movie until we ALL felt like we'd been ECT'd because there were random holes and gaps and nothing made any damn sense anymore. (No way did David Ayer do that. That had to be some rich producer dork who wears $250 blue jeans and hideous Fahrenheit aftershave) 
> 
> So I wrote my take on it, which helps set up J’s jumbled frame of mind in which he enters Ace Chemicals with Harley. Unlike the rest of my stuff, I used a bit of his canon backstory for this. In my head, this is all set the same night as the Purple Lamborghini video...I mean, who among us wasn't super disappointed that none of that was in the actual movie?

                The nice thing about being _resilient_ was that people didn’t expect it, Harleen thought. 

                 Arkham Asylum, shocked at what she had been through, had given her six weeks off with pay. They expected her to use that time to rest, recover, and see her own therapist for counseling about what she had suffered at the hands of the Joker.

                 Harleen was only interested in getting those hands back on her – as soon as possible.  Her memories had returned within days after she woke up in the hospital, and with them, her craving for him.  It didn’t matter what he had done, and really, could she judge?  She had signed off on the same being done to him.

                 She told him she could take it and she _could_.  After a few days in the hospital, she felt fine and was ready to take on the world. _Even him._

                 It was a well-known fact that the Joker owned several of Gotham’s hottest clubs and used them as his place of business, his office as it were.  The one he favored most was a combination strip and comedy club called the Grin and Bare It, so Harleen thought she’d start there first.  There was a long line out front but she went straight to the front of it.  The bouncer took one look at her.  She was hot, but what she was wearing didn’t meet the dress code.  He wondered how badly she wanted to get in.

                “You’re not on the list, sugar,” he told her after she gave her name.  “No can do.”

                “I’m a _friend_ of your boss.  Go tell him I’m here,” Harleen ordered.

                The boss having friends at all was a foreign concept to Denny, the idea of the boss having a friend who was a doctor inconceivable.  Still, she was hot and on the off chance the Boss _did_ want to see her, he didn’t want to be the poor sucker who had sent her away.        

                “Wait here,” he told her in his harshest voice, hoping she would.  Asking the Joker anything was frightening and Denny said a silent prayer as he slipped inside.  He was relieved to see Jonny Frost just inside the door. He’d put this on him.            

                “Hey, Jonny. There’s some blonde outside, says her name is Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Says the Boss will want to see her. She’s not on the list.”

                Jonny laughed, surprising Denny as the tall man was just _not_ the laughing type.  “Fuck me,” he said, shaking his head.  “Let me go deal with this.”

                He saw her before she saw him. She was wearing black skinny jeans that set off her perfect ass to perfection and a blue shirt that wasn’t buttoned up too high, giving everybody a nice view of her cleavage.  Her hair was down and wavy, surrounding her head like a halo.  _Looking pretty good for having her brain fried a week ago, and shit, she found her way here._ He couldn’t help but be a little impressed.

                “Dr. Quinzel,” Jonny drawled slowly, enjoying the shock on her face as she turned to face him.  “You sure you want to be here?”

                She stepped up to him and leaned so close he thought for a second she was going to kiss him, before whispering in his ear.

                “I doubt your boss keeps an ECT machine in there, so this is probably the safest meeting we’ve ever had.”  Harleen stepped back.  “Lead the way.”

                Jonny hadn’t been actually planning on letting her in, but now he wasn’t sure how to get out of it, and knowing the Boss, he actually did want to see her.  He’d left her alive, which shocked the hell out of Jonny and made him wonder.  That evening’s death toll showed that the Boss wasn’t going soft, so maybe he had plans for the girl.

                Maybe. Or maybe he'd get shot letting her in there.  Well, she could lead the way – she seemed eager enough. 

                He gestured to the door.  “After you, Doctor.”

* * *

                The Joker was in the VIP room, enjoying the silence.  He’d just finalized a deal that would put him back in the same financial position as when he’d taken his unplanned leave of absence to cool his heels in Arkham.  Now, they were gone, leaving their suitcase of cash behind like _good little drug dealers_ and he was alone with his bottle of scotch and his box of coke.        

                Freedom was every bit as good as he’d remembered.  He leaned over and did another line of coke, and as he sat back up, she came into view.

                _No fucking way._

Dr. Harleen Quinzel was standing in his VIP room with a disapproving look on her face.   Jonny was behind her. 

                “You’re going to rot holes in your nose doing that, you know,” she scolded.

                Jonny, behind her, rolled his eyes.  “Boss, do you want- “

                “Get out,” the Joker said to him, getting to his feet.

                _Don’t have to tell me twice,_ thought Jonny, and disappeared, sure he’d be cleaning up one hell of a bloody mess later on this evening. 

                “Doctor Quinzel!” the Joker said, in his most charming voice. “Welcome to my club.  Not that you’ve been invited but I see you found your way here. Didn’t _realize_ I left a trail of breadcrumbs.”  He gestured wildly with his hand.  “Would you like a drink?” 

                _Why did he have to look so good?_ Harleen had never seen him in street clothes, only the shapeless Arkham scrubs, and now he was right in front of her in a fitted black tuxedo with shiny black and white wing tip shoes. He even had a cane leaning on the booth beside him.  She licked her lips, trying to show some semblance of self-control. 

                “I’d love one. That’ll do fine,” she told him, pointing at the bottle of Glenlivet that was sitting on the table.         

                He poured a glass and gestured for her to sit.  “I do hope there are no hard feelings about our…last meeting.”

                Harleen smiled innocently and took a sip of her drink.  “If I was a victim, I couldn’t possibly be the one who helped you, could I?  I got six weeks off with pay to recover from my ordeal and obtain counseling.”

                “And here you are,” the Joker observed, chuckling.  “So tell me, Dr. Quinzel, what kind of _counseling_ is this?  Confronting your attacker, or hoping to be attacked again?”

                 “We weren’t done with _your_ therapy, Mr. J.  There are so many topics we couldn’t address in Arkham.  I would be severely derelict in my duty to you if I just dropped you,” she replied sweetly, getting up and walking slowly around the low table as she did so to sit down beside him.  

                _Brave or crazy.  One of the two._ He thought he was over it, that torturing her had been as good as fucking her would have been, but now she was there and he still wanted her.  He growled, frustrated at himself for his weakness, and made a decision. 

In the next breath, he knocked the glass from her hand and pounced on her, one hand around her throat, the other between her legs.  Harleen gasped, trying to pull back from the hand that pressed on her windpipe at the same time she pushed toward the one between her legs.  She heard him chuckling.          

                “This isn’t a romance novel, Dr. Harley Quinn,” he mocked, twisting her name deliberately.  “Do you really think you can play with me and come out of it alive?”

                She looked into his ice blue eyes.  “Your decision,” she whispered. 

                He was expecting fear, was expecting her to back out, try to escape.  Not this. Not this _submission._ Fuck, it was hot and exactly what he wanted.

                “That’s right,” he growled.  “Everything is my decision and you'll do as you're told.”   He got the button of her jeans open and yanked the zipper down, working his hand inside and finding her soaked.  She wiggled, doing her best to get out of the tight jeans and moaning as his hand worked inside of them. 

                He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted a woman this badly.   He pulled away from her for a second and shrugged off his jacket, never taking his hand from her.  She pulled him back down, her hands swiftly unbuttoning his shirt and working on his belt.  He pushed her shirt and her bra up, feeling her hard nipples rub against his chest and he groaned despite himself.  She had pushed her jeans off and he felt his pants sliding off his hips; she’d gotten them unzipped as well.

                _Fast worker_ , he thought, amused.  Good thing because the last thing he felt like being tonight was patient.  He freed himself from his shorts and yanked her panties to the side, entering her.  Her eyes rolled back in her head and she tossed her head back, her arm over her own mouth to muffle the noises she couldn’t help making.   He grabbed her wrist and pulled it away, then pinned both wrists above her head, one hand holding them down.

                “It’s my club,” he hissed.  “I don’t care who hears you.”   He began thrusting in earnest, watching her face as she rolled her eyes and tried to choke back noises in her throat unsuccessfully. She clamped her mouth shut and writhed, her head thrashing back and forth as he slammed into her even harder.  She tried to pull her wrists away from his hand but he was much too strong and she heard his low chuckling at her attempts. 

                “You…don’t make the rules,” he growled with some difficulty. He felt like his head was going to explode. It was so good…nothing like he’d remembered with anyone else.  He felt her whole body lift up, pressing into his when she came, convulsing around him. She screamed his name despite herself and he laughed and dropped her wrists, finally kissing her as he reached his own release, loving the feel of her moans on his lips.  He collapsed on top of her, his head on her shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

                _Jesus._

Her shirt and bra were bunched up under his head and it wasn’t the most comfortable position but he was having trouble convincing himself to move.  He closed his eyes and a flash of memory came back…his head on a woman’s belly, the small kick he felt against his ear.

                The Joker sat up like a shot, shaking his head. Where were his clothes?  He pulled his pants back up and started buttoning his shirt.  Harleen sat up, confused at his sudden action, but she followed suit and started to adjust her clothing and find what was missing.  She looked at him quizzically when they were done.

                He gestured toward the door.  “I’m sure you remember where it is from when you came in.”

                “What?”        

                “You got what you came for. Get out.”

                She didn’t move.  She was looking at him as if she hadn’t heard right, running one hand through her mane of blonde waves.  Her confused look made him angry and he whistled.  Jonny stuck his head in a moment later.

                “Jonny, could you please escort Dr. Quinzel out?  Our meeting is over.” 

                “You can’t just- “she burst out, and then stopped.

                _I can do whatever I want, sweetheart,_ he thought.  _And right now, I want you to get the fuck out so I can drink myself into oblivion and forget what I just remembered._

Jonny didn’t hesitate.  He went over to the couch and threw Harleen effortlessly over his shoulder, removing her from the VIP room despite her kicking, screaming and trying to scratch him some more.

                He sure wished the Boss could hook up with some declawed ones. 


	4. Day Four:  Chemical Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did like the way the novelization gave Harley decidedly _snarky_ thoughts in this scene. She was kind of like yeah, whatever, can we get on with this? It was funny, I just wasn't sure I agreed with the tone of her internal dialogue, so...here we go again, my version!

             The Joker dragged her up the stairs two at a time, his hand firmly clamped around her wrist.  Harleen would have complained, but at this point she was just happy he’d let her get in the car and go with him.

              _I can’t believe he didn’t hit me,_ she thought. But the second he hadn’t, the second he’d hit the brakes and come skidding to a stop just inches from her, she _knew_. Knew that she had not been wrong, had never been wrong…whatever this insanity was, he felt it too and he would not destroy her no matter how much he wanted to.

              She understood.  After all, she was the one giving up her career and entire life for the same insanity, the same obsession.  But she had already accepted it ...really, she had accepted it way back in Arkham, when she took him the kitty with the scalpel inside…there was already no turning back.  So she was calm now. 

              He hadn’t accepted it, and the manic energy spinning off at him at the moment was enough to make her dizzy.  Finally, they reached the top and looked down at the steaming vats below. 

              “Question…”

              She turned to him as he ran a finger gently down her arm. Even that small touch suffused her with warmth. 

              “Would you die for me?”

              “Yes.”    _If I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t be here_ , she thought.

              As if reading her thoughts, he continued.  “That’s too easy. Would you – would you live for me?”

              She hesitated as she thought about the implications of his words.

              “Hmm?”

              “Yes.” 

              He wagged a finger at her.  “Careful.  Do not say this oath thoughtlessly.”

              His hand covered her mouth.  “Desire becomes surrender, surrender becomes power.”

              _He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know,_ she thought.  She’d seen his face change the second she told him it was his decision whether she lived or died.  She surrendered completely and in exchange, got exactly what she wanted and needed.  It was how he worked, and it hadn’t exactly been rocket science to figure that out. 

              The only mystery was why he freaked out afterward, but she knew it had something to do with feelings that made him uncomfortable.  She knew it wasn’t about her.   _All he had to do tonight was hit me, or swerve around me,_ she thought.  Yet, he hadn't.  For all of his harsh words when she confronted him on the highway, in the end, he'd opened the door and told her to get into the car.

              The Joker’s hand slipped from her mouth and he touched her lips with a finger.  “Do you want this?”

              “I do.”  She didn’t hesitate.

              “Then say it.  Say it.  Say it.  Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty please.”

              “Please.” 

              “God, you’re so good,” 

              She kept her face serious and earnest, giving him no clue of what lay beneath.  She knew what he wanted. It wouldn’t have been how she’d have chosen to spend the evening, but if a dip in a vat of chemicals was what it took to bind her to him forever, she was game.  He'd survived it, so would she, just as she had survived the ECT.  

              None of it scared her.  Never seeing him again?  That terrified her.  There was no one else out there like him and it wasn't just him, it was who _she_  was with him.  She loved him, but she also loved herself...this version of herself...he was like a filter that had gone over her entire life and made it brighter, made _herself_ brighter and stronger and far more impressive.   Harleen just wanted to spend her life basking in the energy that surrounded him, feeling alive and excited and nothing like the person she used to be.  

             She faced him, looking him in the eye, watching him staring at her in rapt attention.  Then she spread her arms wide and let herself fall backwards. 

              _If I die, at least I’ll have been alive first,_ she thought, falling. 

              She hit the acid and it was everywhere, her skin burning and tingling.  The tank was deeper than she thought and she remembered too late she couldn’t swim, her feet kicking ineffectually as her hands desperately raked the sides, looking for a handhold that wasn’t there, afraid to open her eyes for fear of burning them into blindness. Her empty lungs hurt but she knew there wasn't any air to breathe, and she felt herself become dizzy, start to lose consciousness and heard the sound of her own voice mocking her.

              _You lost.  He played you.  He’s up there laughing._

As reality started to fade away, she felt the water displaced as something else dropped into the tank.  Then pressure that could only be hands on her waist, lifting her up. 

              Harleen was afraid to open her eyes or even take a breath, convinced she was hallucinating as her life left her body, but then there was air in her lungs again and the familiar sensation of his rough lips on her own.  Her eyes snapped open and he was there, coated in a shiny sheen from the chemicals. Their clothes were shredded, eaten away, falling apart and she could feel the hard muscles of his stomach against her as he held her and she looked up at him in wonder.  He threw his head back, laughing. 

              She pulled his head back down to hers, kissing him again, one hand around his shoulders and the other at the nape of his neck, feeling victorious and invincible. She’d played his game and won.  _You blinked first, Mr. J._

              She knew she was never, ever going to let him go.


	5. Day Five:  Date Night AKA Club Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date Night/Club Scene!
> 
> Of course it has smut. Since basically I'm just rewriting the whole movie here with smut added. But really, it would have been such good smut, wouldn't it? Sorry, kiddies, the next J&H movie NEEDS to be R rated. 
> 
> I stole a line from the comics at the end. :-) BTW if you're on Twitter, so is Paul Dini - please tag him in a thank you for the amazing, wonderful, and most of all ACCURATE J&H content he's been writing. I'm sure the people who write the paychecks read Twitter, so if we make our feelings clear, we are likely to get a lot more Classic Dini Gangster Moll Harley and see the end of New 52 Unstable Idiot Victim Harley.

              Harley arched her back, sliding against the pole.  She could feel every eye was on her, and she loved it.  She turned and cartwheeled across the platform, so fast that her golden dress stayed in place, thrown out against the arc by the energy she put into the move. 

              She loved doing that.  It drove Mr. J crazy…he was always worried someone would see what wasn’t _theirs_ but they never did.  He should know better than to underestimate her skills by now.  Harley laughed and smiled at another dancer, swinging around the pole to snake her body seductively toward the ground, so close that they were almost touching.

              It was going to be a _very_ good night.

              She knew the moment that Monster T entered the club and directed some of her frenetic energy in that direction, making sure he got a perfect view of her breasts in the loose dress that barely covered them as she swung around the pole.  Harley watched as he remembered why he was here and slipped through the crowd to meet with Mr. J.  Spinning around, her hair flying, she continued to watch surreptitiously as he extended his hand to the Joker, who ignored him.

              Harley grinned. She loved watching her Puddin’ put people in their rightful place.  She could feel his eyes on her, and escalated the show she was giving him, practically grinding on the other dancer.  Monster T was watching her again, right in front of Mr. J.

              _That_ wouldn’t go over well. It never did.  

              As if on cue, she heard him whistle for her and in a second, she was there, pushing aside the beaded curtain and smiling.

              “Oh, come to Daddy,” he called.

              “Puddin?”  She tossed her hair, _knowing_ how good she looked tonight.

               _What game are we going to play with this one?_ She couldn’t wait and giggled in anticipation as she swung her long legs over the back of the booth.  The guy was still watching.  _Not the brightest light,_ she thought. 

              “Awww…Listen, you are my gift to this – “ The Joker gestured dramatically “-handsome hunka hunka!  You belong to him now.”

              Harley smiled and draped herself over Monster T, sliding into his lap with a bark and enjoying his nervous laughter.  This was one of her _favorite_ games.  

              “You’re cute,” she purred.  “Do you want me?”  She slid a hand across his jawline.  “I’m all yours.” 

              She turned back to watch Mr. J’s reaction. He was breathing hard and she knew he was barely holding himself back.  Monster T was looking _very_ nervous now. 

              “I don’t want no beef,” he said to Harley, pleading with her for mercy. 

              _Barking up the wrong tree,_ she thought, while still smiling seductively at him.  _I would never ruin my Puddin’s fun._

“You don’t want no beef?” the Joker questioned.  “You don’t want no beef?  You don’t want no beef?”  he repeated, parrotlike.

              “Why, what’s wrong?  You don’t like me?” Harley asked, indignant.  “Fine, don’t waste my time then.”  She got up just as quickly as she’d sat down, flouncing off to sit behind Mr. J. 

              “Look, this is your lady,” Monster T protested, trying to defuse the situation. 

              _Too late,_ thought Harley.  She sat back down at the booth and twirled her hair, a mischievous grin on her face.  She’d seen this episode a few times already and she knew how it ended.

              The Joker went to him, as close as Harley had been, his face practically touching the other man’s.  “Look, are you enjoying yourself?”

              “No,” Monster T said, aware that _this_ was the right answer but not realizing his wandering eyes had already sealed his fate.  “That’s your lady, Joker.”

              “That’s right,” Mr. J. responded and, quick as a flash, shot the other man.  He looked at Jonny.  “Get that out of here, would you?  Keep the watch and the wallet.”  Jonny nodded, but they didn’t even see because the Joker had grabbed Harley by the wrist and pulled her through the door in the back to the staircase that led to their apartment above the club. 

              No sooner were they inside the door than he pushed her up against the wall with a mixture of anger and lust. 

              “Were you having _fun_ out there?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

              She licked her lips.  “Just putting on a good show for you, Daddy.  He was scared of me –“ she giggled.  “Didja see how nervous he was when I sat on his lap?”

              “He _should_  be scared. I know…what you’re capable of.”

              “You know _everything_ I’m capable of,” she reminded him, her voice breathy and seductive. “I can't wait to show you.”  Harley slid to her knees, tearing at his belt buckle.  He buried his hands in her silky hair as her fingers flew; only seconds later she had him in her mouth, her talented tongue tracing a pattern along the side of his cock.  He groaned; savoring the incredible sensations as her mouth worked.  She pulled back, concentrating on the head, her tongue dipping into the center.  Harley smiled when she felt his knees tremble almost imperceptibly.

              _I am the only one who can make you weak,_ she thought, reveling as always in the power she had over him.  Suddenly, she took his full length into her mouth, letting him hit the back of her throat.  He growled in pleasure and then pulled her back up to a standing position, his hand going under her dress.  A wide grin spread across his face when he realized she wore nothing underneath.

              “God, you’re _such_ a good girl, Harley.”

              She could only moan as he touched her, his long fingers sliding inside her to find her wet and ready.  He chuckled.  “You like watching me kill for you, don’t you?” he whispered into her ear. 

              Harley gasped in pleasure; his fingers were working on her as his mouth traveled a line down the side of her neck.  “Oh God, yes, I – “her words turned to a strangled, incoherent sound as he pulled one of her slender thighs up beside his waist and entered her. 

              “Who do you belong to?” he hissed into her ear, his face buried in her golden hair as he slammed her against the wall.

              “You…ohhhh…oh God, baby, you’re so good,” Harley wrapped her leg around him, pulling him impossibly closer, and threw her head back.  He bit her neck where it joined her shoulder and she convulsed against him.  He slid a hand down the draped neck of her dress and teased a nipple with his fingertips, making her cry out. 

              “Should have tied him up and made him _watch_ first,” the Joker growled.  “Can you imagine him over there in the corner…bound and gagged…watching me fuck you like this?”

              Harley imagined the dead man, his eyes wide, watching Mr. J drill her into the wall, and came with a loud cry, her arms and legs tightening around him. The feel of her pussy contracting around him pushed him over the edge as well and he groaned as he filled her. 

              “Next time,” he said, with some difficulty as he couldn’t quite catch his breath, “we’ll make ‘em watch.” 

              Harley nodded, a wild look of anticipation dancing in her eyes.  “Please, Daddy.”  She could still feel him inside of her; he’d been rough enough that she knew she’d feel it for days afterward, and that thought made her shiver in pleasure.  Nothing like a little jealousy to get him revved up _exactly_ the way she liked it.

              The Joker just grinned and shook his head, amazed for a moment at his good fortune.  “Baby, you’re the greatest.  Come on, let’s get cleaned up and go out hunting for bats!”

              She smiled and hurried up the steps after him.

              _I love date night_ , she thought.


	6. Day Six:  Helicopter Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TO THOSE OF YOU WHO ALREADY READ ALL MY STUFF: I apologize, this is a re-run.
> 
> I already published this as Duty of Revenge, but it's exactly what this day's topic is supposed to be, so...here you go again. I really didn't feel I had anything to add. As usual, there is a lot added that are the deleted scenes in my mind :-) I wanted it to make more sense, and I think this does. Tell me what you think!
> 
> There are some minor references to things that happened in my other stories in this one. But nothing that will confuse you.

Harley dived behind the wall grinning from ear to ear.  She’d heard the laughter amid the gunfire, that unmistakable, gleeful cackle that told her he had finally found her.  She knew he would – no matter how long she’d been at Belle Reve, no matter how many times _they_ told her that he wasn’t coming, that he’d forgotten about her…she _knew_.  She knew it was just a matter of time, that there was _no way_ they could outsmart him, could keep her somewhere that he couldn’t find. 

Most women - hell, most _people_ , would have been terrified with bullets screaming all around them, but Harley felt nothing but excitement. They would be together again, because it was meant to be – the one thing in life she could be absolutely sure of, the one thing that had sustained her through the nightmare that had been Belle Reve, through the beatings and the electrical shocks and the force feeding and the mind games. 

Harley saw Deadshot out of the corner of her eye, staring at her neck and giving her a strange look.

“What, I got a hickey or something?”  She put a hand to the chip in her neck, feeling an odd sensation and then nothing.  Then her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out. 

                _NOW!_

Her mouth fell open in glee.  She saw Deadshot shaking his head at her, concerned.  He was a good guy but he didn’t realize she’d rather die trying to get back to Mr. J. – any day of the week – than live one more moment without him. 

Harley sprung to her feet and started to walk in the direction of the hovering helicopter.  Sparks and explosions were everywhere and she couldn’t help but think it felt like the world was putting on a fireworks show just for them.  She looked up and there he was – even more handsome than she’d remembered.  He stood on the back deck of the helicopter in a black tuxedo, looking for all the world like he was picking her up for a date in an unforgettable way.

He looked so good she could hardly stand it. She strode toward him as he kicked a tethered rope off the back of the copter.

“Hello, baby.” 

Harley’s face lit up at his words.  Dimly she heard Waller screaming as she passed by where she and Flagg were hiding.

“KILL HER!”

And Flagg’s answering scream, above the gunfire.

“Her nanite’s disarmed!”

It was all she needed to hear. That had been the odd sensation!  Harley shed her jacket and took off running down the ledge toward the rope.

“Come on, baby!”  Mr. J was standing at the edge of the copter, smiling at her.  Harley took a flying leap and grabbed the rope, wrapping her legs around it as the copter pulled skyward.  She waved to the team as she left them behind.  _Sorry guys,_ she thought, _but my ride is here.  Time to call it a night!_

As the copter pulled further away, she saw them on the roof across from her.  Deadshot and Waller – and Waller was making him shoot at her.  Would he kill her?  She didn’t think so.  He had a thing for her, there was no denying it, and in a different life she might have welcomed the attention.  In this one, she could think of nothing else but getting up that rope and giving Mr. J something better to do with his mouth than laugh.

Harley saw him aim and heard the shot.  She played along, twirling around and letting it look like she was a limp body, attached to the rope only because her hand was caught in it.  For a second, anyway. 

“Harley!”  The tone in the Joker's voice scared her and she realized he wasn’t in on the joke.  _Ooops, sorry, baby,_ she thought, although she couldn’t help but feel pleased by the abject terror in his voice.  She popped back up, laughing and got back to climbing up the rope.  A few moments later, he was reaching for her and her hand was in his and then she was on the deck with him.

“Puddin!” she cried out, throwing her arms around his neck, and then they were kissing, and it was _real_ , after two years it was real and they were together and his arms were around her squeezing her so tight she almost couldn’t breathe.  They finally broke apart, both grinning idiotically at each other.  “You got all dressed up for me?”

“Oh, you know I’d do anything for you,” he purred.  He leaned in so she could hear him over the noise from the copter.  “By the way, I’ve got some grape soda on ice and a bear skin rug waiting.”

“Yeah?”

Their reunion was rudely interrupted by Jonny yelling from the front of the craft.  “Boss, we got problems!”  With that, the front of the copter exploded into flames. 

“This bird is baked,” the Joker observed unnecessarily.

They looked down and saw that the rooftops weren’t far off.  Perhaps they had a shot…

“Okay honey – it’s me and you!”  He took her hand, preparing to jump together when the moment was right. 

Her face lit up, her love for him written plainly upon it.  “Let’s do it!”  There had been _so many_ times she thought it was all over for her, and she knew it would happen eventually, but looking at him now, she regretted nothing.  If anybody could get them out of this alive, he could.

Suddenly, a much larger explosion rocked the helicopter and the force broke the grip between their hands.  Harley found herself flying through space and heard the Joker’s anguished howl.  Then she hit the roof, feet first, but the force of the landing sent her forward.  Her gymnastics training kicked in and she tucked and rolled, finally coming up on her feet again and running to the edge of the roof as the copter descended down and slammed into a building in an explosion of flames and black smoke.  Her legs went out from under her and she sunk down on her bloody, skinned knees, holding on to the ledge in front of her in disbelief and shock.

He had to have jumped, right?  _He had to have_.  He was ready to – but with the other explosion maybe he didn’t have time, maybe it all happened too fast. 

She knelt there for a long time, straining her eyes, hoping to see something move, hear something, something that might give her hope.  Harley folded her hands on the top of the ledge and bowed her head.

_Dear God, I know I’ve done a lot of bad things and I don’t deserve being listened to please please please he can’t be dead he can’t be dead if he’s dead please take me too because I can’t do this, I can’t, anything but this.  Do whatever you want to me but not this._

She knelt there as the rain came down and blended with her tears and her bruised body started to stiffen up and hurt.  He had just been talking to her, he had just been holding her, he had just been kissing her…he could not be gone. 

Harley opened her eyes and staggered to her feet, her knees screaming.   She had to go look at the crash.  She was terrified of finding him dead, of seeing something that would haunt her forever, but she _needed_ to see it, she needed to know.  She found the door to the building and ran down the stairs into the parking garage below and out again into the cold rain.  Harley looked both ways. It looked like a war zone, with the aftermath of explosions everywhere, burned out vehicles and the remains of a second chopper.  She saw no one alive as she walked the couple of blocks to the crash site, hardly daring to breathe.  Her old psychiatry training started to play in her head, all the reasons why it was best for loved ones to view the body even in the event of a traumatic death.  It was an unwelcome soundtrack.

_…viewing helps in the grieving process, because bonds with the deceased need to be severed so that the survivor can make new attachments…_

As if she would get attached to anyone or anything ever again.

_…seeing the body can help bring home the reality of the loss…_

_Shut up,_ she thought. 

In a few minutes she was there, among the smoldering metal that had been the Chinook only twenty minutes earlier.  She saw a hand sticking out of the rubble, but it wasn’t his. Too small.  The back of the helicopter where he had been was a mess of twisted metal and ash and despite the rain, it was still hot.  Harley found a stick and poked through it, gingerly. 

She gasped when she her search revealed something white but realized a second later it was merely fabric.  She pulled the corner of it and it came free, dust and ash falling off as she shook it. 

It was the white carnation he’d been wearing on his jacket.  She pressed it to her lips, ignoring the soot and dirt that remained on the fabric.  Harley felt the tears start up again, the hot pressure building behind her eyes.  Her head ached.  He was probably buried underneath all of the rubble and she had no way to move it. It wasn’t _fair_ , it wasn’t the way he should have gone out.  They should have gone out together, in a fight with the Bat or taking down the Enchantress or blowing up Belle Reve…something grandiose, glorious, memorable.     

Then his voice came to her again, something he had said long ago.  _There is no honor in weakness._  He told her that back when Selina was first training her to fight and she was stiff and sore and whiny about it, because after all, practicing psychiatry and typing reports didn’t exactly keep you in fighting shape and it had been a hard adjustment at first. 

She might be dead inside, but she could still fight, she could still do something honorable.  _Revenge_.  

Play nice.  Rejoin the squad. Only that would give her the access to kill Amanda Waller, and Amanda was going to die in some way that was _unimaginably_ painful.  She needed to personally experience every bit of pain she had caused, and there were no words for what Harley was feeling right now.  Pulling out all of Waller’s fingernails and toenails – ten times over – wouldn’t even _begin_ to settle this score.

 _An eye for an eye,_ Harley thought.  She knew Mr. J would want it that way.  She stuffed the carnation into her bra and climbed slowly up on the nearest wrecked vehicle, a BMW that had collided with a police car in the chaos, to contemplate her next move. 

She was going to have to put on one hell of an act.  Despite her emotional state, her logical mind kicked in and began to plot.    _Can’t have them thinking I’m back for vengeance,_ she thought.  She felt for the choker around her neck and took it off.  Much as she wanted to wear it forever, it didn’t fit into her rapidly forming plan – one in which she was every bit the needy, psychotic doormat they believed her to be.  It was only a piece of leather and brass.  Her loyalty was so much more than a piece of jewelry.  With a last look at it, she threw it into the street. 

Just then, she saw Deadshot and the others coming toward her. 

 _It’s showtime,_ she thought.  She wiped her eyes and stretched out in a dramatic pose on the top of the car, and put a fake smile on her face.

“Hey guys, I’m back!”  Even she was impressed with how cheerful she managed to sound.  “I missed you all so much.”

“We’re glad you could make it,” Deadshot replied, coming over to help her down from the car.  He swung her to earth and set her down, and they exchanged a look, both understanding that they would talk later, when there wasn’t so much company.   He’d help her, she was sure of it.  He’d already shown his loyalty to her by not shooting her, and if she had to bat her eyelashes a time or two to get revenge, well, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d come on to someone to get a job done.

“Hey, craziness.”  Harkness tossed her bat back to her and she caught it, turning it over in her hands.  Yet another gift from Mr. J.  She almost began crying again but she stuffed it down, swallowing hard. 

_There is no honor in weakness._

She would not be weak.  Harley caught Chato’s eye as she passed by and it stopped her for a second.  He’d recognized it, saw what was going on behind her eyes, saw the wheels turning.  And he’d looked at her with respect. 

Harley filed that away for future reference as she fell into line with the others. She imagined Amanda Waller in flames, screaming.   It was such a pleasant thought that she smiled.  It would be good. It would be beautiful. It would be _art_.  She was going to create a masterpiece with Amanda Waller’s blood and pain and suffering, the perfect final love letter to the love of her life, and Waller wasn’t even going to see it coming.  When the time was exactly right, she would strike so hard that Waller would wish she was back here surrounded by zombies.

 _Beware the fury of a patient woman,_ she thought.


	7. Day Seven: Let's Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite scene of the whole movie. Margot’s face in it is beyond perfection. They had to have known they were going with the edit where she still thinks he is dead when they shot this, because that’s exactly her reaction. She goes from disbelief to this-is-the-best-moment-of-my-life and it’s just beautiful…it’s so genuine that it’s hard to believe it’s acting. I’d have given her an Academy Award for that scene alone. And then his face – if you think about it, the only time he really smiles is when he’s with her. He has all of his manic, intimidating smiles for the rest of the world, but when he takes off the mask and tosses it aside – that is the smile that only Harley gets.
> 
> Love it, love it, love it. Still want the R-rated epilogue though. You _know_ that had to be one hell of a next scene with them...

              Harley sat cross-legged on her cot.   You couldn’t really call it a bed; it was a bare metal frame with a thin mattress.  She wasn’t permitted a blanket or sheet because they knew she’d tear them into strips and use them to make aerial silks so she could hang from the ceiling and actually get some  exercise.  So she was stuck doing yoga on the floor, although that was entertaining because she could distract the guards.  On occasion, two of them had walked right into each other, watching her.  Boom.   These guards hadn’t been around in the days when she was still showing her _aggressive_ side, so they didn’t see her as much of a threat.  They talked freely around her too, so she knew Amanda Waller would be coming by in a few weeks, and she couldn’t wait.  Harley was ready to put her plan in motion. 

              Waller was easy enough to figure out; just another power-obsessed sociopath, with a huge chip on her shoulder comprised of being both female and non-white.  But unlike most who know they’ve been treated unfairly, Amanda Waller didn’t want equality and respect.  She wanted to _be_ the one wielding power as viciously as Harley herself wielded a baseball bat, _be_ the oppressor.  Amanda enjoyed seeing people powerless, rendering them so, and felt no guilt for anything she’d done.  She felt completely entitled to her actions. 

              When it got right down to it, Amanda Waller was no different than the entity she’d assembled a task force to strike down. She wanted to rule the world, and if someone got in her way, they could die.

              Harley didn’t care who thought they ruled the world, _thought_ being the operative word.  The official government, with all its pompous blowhards who thought their manipulative power-mongering and secret deal-making wasn’t obvious, just made her roll her eyes.  They’d all be crawling under their chairs crying for their mommies if she and the Joker showed up.  Waller could have bullied and buffaloed those people all day, and Harley wouldn’t have cared.  Might have even watched it herself on CNN if it was a slow day. 

              But people like Waller did not understand that, no matter who you thought you were, no matter what position had been invented and title bestowed to stroke your ego, there were people you didn’t mess with. People who carried switchblades and knew how to use them.  People who were street smart, and silent, people who had the patience to wait until the perfect opportunity presented itself.  People who didn’t care who you _thought_ you were, because they knew one well-timed slash or accurate bullet and you would bleed out just the same as the man who mopped the hallway floor at night. 

              Messing with one of those people who also happened to be _a lot smarter than you were_ was not a wise choice.  Harley didn’t think that Amanda Waller had ever loved anybody but Amanda Waller, so the odds were she lacked the capacity to _fully understand_ what she had done. 

              But she would.  Harley would make damn sure she got an education on the topic.

Harley pretended to read the romance novel in front of her face, while she mentally rehearsed the conversation she would be having with Amanda Waller, and reviewed all the things Waller might say, the games she would try to play ( _lame ones, not as good as me and Mr. J could think up_ ), and what her responses would be. 

> _Why should I trust you?_   Waller would ask.  _You’re a killer, a remorseless one._
> 
> _I was doing what my Puddin wanted_ , she would answer.  _I was scared of him too!_
> 
> And then, she would let herself tear up. 
> 
> _I want to do something good before I die.  Please let me work for you.  I promise I’ll do whatever you want._
> 
> She would look at Waller with big eyes, the eyes of a child who is lost without a leader.

              She thought of how it might go.  Harley knew they’d probably chip her again, and be able to blow her head off when she killed Waller, but who cared?  She only cared that Waller died, preferably in excruciating pain, and knew _why_ she was dying.  

              _You took my life, and now I’m taking yours._

              Harley tried to focus on the book momentarily, but she never could read very much of any of these romance novels before her mind carried her back to some memory about the Joker and then she’d just wind up staring at the same sentence, her eyes glazed over with her mind stuck in the past, usually in some moment like him kissing her as they stood on the roof of a building in Gotham after midnight planting explosives.  She didn’t mind.  Harley preferred living in the past, and acting loopy, cheerful and harmless was exactly the image she wanted to portray to keep the guards foolish and trusting. 

              She just hoped that she'd be together with Mr. J again after she died.  Harley had the _best_ little fantasy going where the Devil welcomed them, showed them their luxurious offices and told them about their new jobs, wreaking Hell on earth together for all eternity. It wasn’t like he’d ever get anybody better qualified. They’d be amazing at it, although knowing her Puddin, she’d have a hard time convincing him not to try to take down Satan and take his job.   

              Harley smiled and got up to get herself another cup of espresso.  The espresso machine was a godsend; not only did she have coffee, but she drank enough that she had an excuse to call the guards regularly and ask them to take her to the bathroom.  They hadn’t let her have a commode in her cell since she used the levers from the last one to make a shiv, an act they refused to forget even though she’d been a model prisoner since the mission.  Of course, every time they took her out, it was just one more opportunity to hear things she wasn’t supposed to hear, or get away from them the day that Waller finally made the mistake of visiting Belle Reve.  So that was fine.

              They were so stupid that it was sort of annoying, but then she reminded herself that stupid people were the exact reason she was able to accomplish so much herself.  She really should not complain.

              She was waiting for her cup to fill when the explosions and gunfire started.  Harley jumped back against the far wall of her cell and then covered her ears at the sound of machine gun fire all around her.  She dived down next to the table that held her espresso machine as the bullets flew.

              The guards were dropping – shot by men dressed as guards.  As she watched, one took a circular saw to the locking apparatus on her cell. 

 _Did one of the team get free and now they’re freeing the rest of us?_  Harley wouldn’t put it past Deadshot.  He was smart enough to pull something like this off.  _I don’t want out,_ she thought.  _I want Amanda Waller and I’ll never find her on the outside._

Just as she was wondering how to explain that to a friend who thought he was doing her a favor, one of the guards walked in and something about the way he moved caught her eye.  That grace…but it couldn’t…

              He pulled off his mask, and smiled at her, tossing it aside.

              She froze for a second, in shock, controlling herself, asking herself if she’d finally snapped, if her mind was gone, if she was hallucinating.

              It was _real_.

              He was alive, and coming toward her, the smile that he reserved only for her lighting up his face.  Not the manic grin he visited upon his victims or the sarcastic smile he bestowed on all the people he knew he was better than.  Just a smile of delight at seeing her, genuine and as close to innocent as he could ever get.

              Harley’s mouth dropped open and she threw her arms around him and leaped into his arms, her eyes filling with tears.  “Puddin!”  She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing him in.  It was _real_.  She knew the smell of his skin, knew the feel of his arms wrapped tightly around her. 

              It was surreal and she was overwhelmed by her own thoughts.  It wasn’t over, _they_ weren’t over, her _life_ wasn’t over, somehow the Universe had waved a magic wand and given it all back to her.  She breathed him in and pressed herself against him, utterly blissful.

              “Let’s go home,” he whispered.


End file.
